


Caged

by Zeal_Ambition_Steel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Family, Feast, Gen, Love, Tourney at Harrenhal, Tragic Romance, the Knight of Laughing Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeal_Ambition_Steel/pseuds/Zeal_Ambition_Steel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The love she was given was a cage, and Lyanna needed to escape it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged

Robert was loud, he was booming, and he seemed entirely too large for the halls of ever-constricting Winterfell, his voice too loud for the solemn brooding passed on from the elder Starks. Robert was exactly what she wanted—handsome, outright, and he was always blazing hot. He was not frozen. He was not stagnant. He was powerful in arms and voice, and for his age he was quite handy with a hammer. He never once called her a freak. Rather, he accepted the wolf just as she was, and Lyanna reckoned she loved him for it.   
"Your blood is far too hot," Ned had criticized her and Brandon as he spat mud. They had laughed in their stern brother's face, both of them slathered in mud after a brawl. Brandon sloshed more at her, and Lyanna had lain into the mud to dodge, laughing, laughing, laughing, eyes so bright the sky was burning and Brandon's eyes glinted like a wolf's in the night. Ned's sharp canine grin. The Starks had fire, just not Robert's kind—they had it in their blood, and it showed in flashes, crackling in their brooding stares and their grim fronts, always present, always scorching, like winter it seared the flesh through ice. "Winter is coming," were their howled words, and winter would always come. 

Robert, on the other hand, was not as consistent—nor was he as dangerous. Everyone knew that a man with a booming voice, who restrained nothing and drank to his heart's content was dangerous on the battlefield.

And if nothing else, Lyanna lived for danger. 

\---

"You will act the lady, you hear?" Rickard Stark had told her. Lyanna's stare had been empty. "It's unseemly for you to be runnin' about in your breeches, actin' like a lad, playing swords with the other runts. I won't have my daughter be a wildling." Wildlings are free, Lyanna recalled hearing once. On the other side of the wall, with no Mad King, no pretense of civilization…they were bound to be free. Lyanna liked the sound of it, but never did she say it aloud. 

"Yes, father," she had replied, and that whiplash smile curled across her face. Her father frowned. 

"I worry about you, Lyanna," he divulged to her, pulling her into his side where she nestled herself in his furs. His hand stroked her shoulder. "I worry you'll burn too brightly, and you'll burn out fast."

"But father, winter is coming, and isn't it cold?" Lyanna had murmured into him, fingers curling around the tendrils of fur. 

"Dragons came in winter," he had said distantly. "Winter can bring many unexpected things…some good…most terrible."

"Like the white walkers?" 

"Especially the white walkers," Rickard had laughed, mussing her hair. 

Lyanna wasn't scared. 

\---

Septa Mordane had her stitching and curtsying and studying manners, sigils, and history. 

Lyanna hated every minute. 

The worst part of it was being able to view her brothers clashing with swords. Why did gentle Ned get to swing a blade, and why did witty Benjen get to aim arrows into a target? Brandon she could understand. Brandon was a whirlwind, fierce and strong, hurling snow and debris at all who crossed him. She loved Brandon best of all, and she was his favorite little sister. 

"No, Benjen, you gotta lower your sword a bit," Brandon scolded Benjen. "You can't just swing up at the head of your opponent, else you'll miss the vitals entirely, you blasted idjit!" 

"At least I'm not slow as a cow!" Benjen jeered. 

"What did you call me?" snarled Brandon. 

"You're fat and slow," Benjen taunted him. 

"Brandon, don't do it," pleaded Ned, "he's younger'n both of us!" 

"Well it's not his first time swingin' a blade," yelled Brandon. "C'mere, you little cull!"

"You're a cull!" retorted Benjen. 

"No, you're the cull!" shouted back Brandon, charging him with the wooden sword. Benjen dodged around his elder brother, and tried to lift his wooden sword for the kill but Brandon was far too quick and— 

"Lyanna!" barked Septa Mordane. "Watch your stitchin' or you'll nick your finger again, lass!" Lyanna narrowed her eyes and returned her attention to her stitching. 

Lyanna thought about how Brandon still owed her a sword. 

\---

Her introduction to court was hazardous at best. 

"You're the she-wolf," Tyrion had addressed her. He was at Harrenhal for his brother's entrance ceremony into the Kingsguard, and she was there for the celebrations. 

"In some circles I am known as such," she had replied, and it had hurt so deeply to quell the wolf's bark. 

"Come now, be frank with me. You're in good company," he had told her. 

"And how do you know my company is as good?" she had challenged him. 

"Well, you're a Stark." Lyanna had laughed. 

"Haven't you heard of our scowls?" 

"I've also heard of your tempers," Tyrion had grinned. 

"And I your pride," she had said. 

The Lannisters, her brothers, Robert, and the Council were all watching the exchange. Lyanna couldn't find it in herself to care. 

"Let's be friends, you and me. Boredom doesn't become you," said Tyrion. "Besides, it's been far too long since I've encountered a pretty woman with any brains." The wolf wagged its tail. 

"Us underdogs must band together," she had said. 

"Otherwise we'll be stamped out," Tyrion had agreed. "I've heard of your sword-fighting."

"I've heard of your father's disdain for you."

"The both of us live in cages due to physique, I'm afraid," Tyrion had sighed. "I have no pick in women or title, and you have no pick in your destiny." 

"It really is quite sad," Lyanna had pouted. 

"Especially since we're such fascinating personalities. We must endeavor to look happier than everyone else here," said Tyrion.

"I shall gladly partake. It is said that if you pretend at something long enough, it shall become real," said Lyanna. 

"I have heard similarly," sighed Tyrion. 

\---

She found the boy in the center of snarling squires, sneering down at the gangly boy. 

"We got your spear, ya little idjit," yells one, brandishing the spear. 

"Please, I did you no harm," the boy she recognized as Howland Reed pleaded. 

"Your unsightly pretense of being a squire did the entire kingdom harm," cackled another boy. 

"Excuse me, squires," Lyanna addressed the lot of them. 

"Lady Lyanna, please do not provoke the lads, they are fool enough-" began Tyrion.

"M'lady," Howland Reed addressed her, standing immediately and bowing his head. The first squire kicked Howland into the ground, and the others laughed. Lyanna turns her gaze to the first squire, spearing him upon the wolf's gaze, fangs bared, eyes gleaming, her heart hammering, her claws drawn, fur bristling, ears pressed to her head. The wolf leapt forth with a snarl, and she drew a squire's sword from his belt, slapping him with the flat edge, raising it to the others who drew away.

"I am Lyanna Stark of House Stark of Winterfell," she hissed, "and one of my father's employ, Howland Reed, was bullied by the likes of you, who did not even rise to greet a lady as he did. Your honor is lacking, boys." Another boy drew a sword and she felled him in three blows. The others fled, apologizing profusely as they went. Howland stared up at her in awe, like the wolf goddess she was, and she smiled a wolf smile down at him, helping him to his feet. She handed him the sword. "Have your vengeance, Howland."

"M'lady, I couldn't…I've no experience with fighting," he admitted, gulping down embarrassment. 

"Then find another way," she said simply. "Come with me. I'll clean you up. My brothers will want to hear of this, as well." 

"My lady, you are as fierce as you are beautiful," Tyrion remarked. Lyanna grinned. 

\---

"Lyanna," Robert had greeted her upon her return to her room.

"Robert," she had said. 

"I heard talk of you and the imp," he said with a smile, opening his arms to her. She allowed them to fold around her. He kissed the top of her head. 

 

"And I heard talk of a celebration we must attend tonight," sighed Lyanna. 

"We will," said Robert. "How was the imp?"

"He was skilled in wit," she told him, rocking alongside him. "And he was quite funny."

"Was he as funny as me?" inquired Robert with a smile. 

"There is verbal humor and there is physical humor, and he outclasses you in the former…though in the latter, you are far his better," Lyanna assured him. 

"Well, that's good to hear," laughed Robert. "You are so beautiful, Lyanna." 

She smiled and tried not to unleash the wolf. 

"I know." It's why I'm caged, she thought. 

His bulky arm looped around hers, they left the room, descending a spiraling staircase and leaving through the front doors. 

Flutes were played, knives juggled, ale distributed amongst boisterous noblemen, laughs had, fires lit, songs sung, stories regaled…and Lyanna loved it. She and Robert shared a grin and they were children again, scampering about with filthied knees and clashing with wooden swords. 

"Robert!" Richard Lonmouth called. Lyanna turned with Robert. 

"Ah, Richard!" chortled Robert. He lowered the volume of his voice, turning to Lyanna with his winter-blue eyes. "I will be with Richard for a time…he challenged me to a contest in drinking."

"You cannot let him challenge you so lightly," Lyanna teased him.

"Exactly my thinking," Robert said before he kissed her. "I'll find you, my love." 

"I hope so…I can only hope that the rest of the party will be as interesting as you," said Lyanna. Robert smiled fondly, tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. 

"Alcohol cannot hope to compete with the stimulation you bring me," said Robert. "But honor is honor, and ours is the fury." 

"My house words are far better," said Lyanna. 

"We shall discuss that later," grinned Robert.

\---

"She's beautiful," Howland Reed gushed. 

"Ashara Dayne's beauty is legendary," Lyanna concurred. She pities the girl, forced to dally with men who do not even spark her interest. Ashara spins around and around, partner after partner, they begin to become a blur and it no longer matters, common boy or knight, she dances, spins, twirls her skirts. Lyanna does not envy her, and the glance Ashara gives her is as hollow as the pretty smile she wears. 

"She looks happy," Howland observed. Lyanna was silent. Brandon and Ned came up alongside her. 

"This one wants to dance with Ashara Dayne," Brandon told her excitedly. Lyanna looked from Brandon to the blushing Ned and guffawed. 

"The quiet wolf wants to take the beauteous Ashara Dayne for a spin?" Lyanna joked. 

"Shut up, Lyanna," snapped Ned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I should've never told you," he said to Brandon, glowering at him. 

"I'll ask her for you, then," chuckled Brandon, sprinting off and Ned followed, hollering his indignation after his older brother. Futile, really. Brandon was a faster runner, what with his longer legs. 

"Lyanna, remember the squires you told me about?" said Benjen, having run up to her. 

"Yes," said Lyanna, peering over at Howland. 

"I heard them boasting of a victory against a Northern hand," growled Benjen. 

"Calm yourself, pup," Lyanna chastised her brother.

"Howland, d'you reckon you'd want a horse and armor? You have honor in need of avenging," Benjen said. 

"I've no idea how to use them," scowled Howland. "And I would not want to bring shame to my people." 

"Oh," said Benjen stupidly. 

"Where are they?" asked Lyanna. 

"There," said Benjen, pointing into the throng. 

"Ah, House Frey, House Haigh, and House Blount," said Lyanna, smiling. For once, the Septa's teachings were useful. Howland stared at his feet, stifling a sob. "Do not weep, young Reed," she said softly. "There are other means to wreak vengeance." Her eyes narrowed. 

\---

The Prince and Princess's arrivals were marked with silence, and all fell to their knees. Lyanna had only glimpsed the Prince before, but now that she saw him, he was as handsome as the tales spoke. Dark eyebrows, brown eyes, moonlit hair, and bronzed skin, he was a writhing mass of contradictions, and his red and black garb only served to further puzzle Lyanna. He looked like fire, really. 

"Rise," he said upon reaching his destination. "Continue the festivities." The uproar resumed, and the Prince took out a harp. A crowd gathered round to listen. Brandon tugged her by the arm into the masses, Ned and Benjen in tow, too. Howland lingered behind them, and in intervals Lyanna would reassure herself of his presence. 

Silence draped over the crowd like one of her father's furs, and the Prince struck a chord before singing. His voice belonged in a looming, ancient hall, his sadness in an ocean far away. He sang of cages and of fire being doused, and Lyanna knew. Despite her attempts to repress her emotions, they bubbled over anyway, and tears dribbled down her cheeks. When all applauded the Prince's song, Brandon said,

"Cryin' like a child, Lyanna." 

"I will not stand to be mocked," she said, sniffing. 

"Beloved-" began Robert, and he froze upon seeing her tears. She snatched his goblet of wine and poured it over Brandon's head, tossing the goblet aside. She grabbed Robert and marched him away from her laughing brothers. 

She could feel the Prince's eyes on her back like the fire that kept her warm as a child in the night. 

\---

She took a deep breath before she scrawled her title, "Knight of the Laughing Tree," across the parchment. She spotted the Knight of the Porcupine, the Knight of Two Towers, and the Pitchfork Knight mingling amongst themselves, probably reliving the humiliation of one Howland Reed. The wolf reared its head, and Lyanna petted it. "Hush, we will have their heads soon enough," she cooed. The wolf relaxed under her touch. 

Her armor was makeshift at best and scrappy at worst. Still, it would have to do. Pilfering armor from more than one source as to alleviate suspicion and expecting all of it to fit was a difficult task. The sword was no problem. The shield she had crafted relatively quickly. It had been an all-night affair, preparing for this joust. She would have their honor at her feet, and she would not be merciful, because wolves tear their prey apart and do not wait for their prey to run. 

She was not Lyanna Stark in that moment, she was a free wolf, unbridled, untamed, unloved, uncaged. It felt perfect, like destiny. 

\---

"For your victories, what do you demand of the King?" Aerys II addressed her. 

"The three of these surly knights attacked a defenseless boy, your grace," Lyanna said, kneeling, not looking the King in the face. "Their honor is in question. I would ask that their respective knights reprimand them accordingly for such a slight against an innocent boy, and nothing more, your highness." 

"As you command, Ser Knight. May I ask your name?" the King said. 

"I am the Knight of Laughing Tree. I apologize, your grace, but I cannot divest more information, even to someone of your majestic stature." She was giddy, challenging the King, and she was going to get away with it. 

"Would you risk becoming an enemy to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros to continue to deny me your identity?" roared the King. 

"I cannot, your majesty. I am bound by honor and by oath. This is the last you see of me, I swear it will be so," Lyanna attempted. 

"You may go," the Prince declared. The King and the Prince then locked stares, and Lyanna knew then that she owed the Prince a hefty debt. She left the premises while she could, climbing onto her horse. 

"Oh Knight of Laughing Tree," Robert greeted her. Shit, he knows, thought Lyanna. No, he cannot. "Why don't you just unmask yourself? You have nothing to fear!" A crowd was beginning to gather, the same crowd that had cheered with each of her successive victories. She needed to escape. 

"I have everything to fear," she snarled, and her horse galloped from the area, faster, faster, faster, hooves booming into the earth, and she could hear a ruckus behind her but she paid it no heed, she had to get far enough away before she could fully slow the pace. 

\---

It took hours to reach a secluded patch of forest. She found a suitable tree that was too tall for many a man to climb. She stripped herself of her armor and her shield. She buried the armor, but the shield deserved a better mantle. She hung it from the tree. When it stilled, she scrambled down from the tree much like a small rodent might, mounting her horse. While she may have been wearing breeches, she could now successfully utilize the excuse of practicing her swordplay in the forest and being entirely clueless as to the whereabouts of the mysterious Knight of Laughing Tree. Now the task was putting distance between herself and the tree. 

She allowed her horse rest by a creek, where it drank aplenty and gobbled up leaves. Lyanna sat against a tree, sighing. Soon it would be dark. She needed to return. Robert and her brothers were most likely worried about her. Her stomach began to churn and her breathing began to quicken as she considered the possibilities. What if they had rallied a search party and they found the shield hanging from the tree? What if they were forced to kill her for spiting the King in such a manner? What if Benjen came alone into the forest? What if no one was searching for her and they had not even noticed her absence? What if Tyrion noticed? What if they told her father? Lyanna held herself, rocking back and forth, her heart a war drum in her chest. What have I done? she thought. 

A crunch of the leaves interrupted her from her thoughts and she jolted from her seated position, drawing her sword. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen stared bewildered at her. 

"Lady Stark," he acknowledged her slowly. She drew her sword, kneeling before him. 

"Your grace," she returned. 

"Stand," he drawled. She complied. "Might I have a look at your sword?"

"Of course," she mumbled, drawing it. He accepted it from her, testing the weight of it. 

"It's well-balanced," he remarked. "But it's seen quite some use recently." 

"I practice in the wood on occasion," she told him. 

"I'm sure," said Rhaegar, eyes wandering up into the canopies. "So you have experience in wielding a sword, Lady Stark?"

"Yes," she answered. 

"Enough to unseat three inexperienced squires in a jousting tournament?" 

"No, your grace," she lied. 

"From the looks of your blade, I would surmise that you do, and that you just lied to your prince," said Rhaegar, returning his attention to her. "And yet you did not run from me, leading me to believe that you believed yourself safe in your prevarication. Curious, that a woman nonetheless would be so bold." 

"And that a prince would be so reckless in venturing into a forest on his own," Lyanna responded, "as there are more than a few characters willing to take advantage."

"This prince is more capable than the Lady Stark imagines," Rhaegar said. "For one, he is already surrounded by characters willing to take advantage."

"Now it sounds like the fair prince is intimating that he bears hidden qualities," said Lyanna. Rhaegar merely smiles. 

"So in lacking a sword, you turned to wit to stab others," he said. 

"It's a suitable alternative to a lady of status," said Lyanna, trying not to attach the venom to the words. 

"Suitable?" 

"Acceptable," sighs Lyanna. Rhaegar eyes her for a moment.

"What you did was both imprudent and ill-advised," he said.

"No one ever said I was either prudent or well-advised," she said. "And if they did, then they were either exaggerating or lying." 

"Then who exactly are you, Lady Stark?"

"That's a good question. I don't wish to further worry my family, so would you please escort me back to Harrenhal? I'm ashamed to say that in escaping I lost my way." 

"Of course," said Rhaegar. 

\---

Rhaegar is infinitely curious about her ever since their first encounter, and so he takes to having notes slipped into her room requesting her presence in the forest. She goes without question because she has so much to lose, and a curious prince is the least of what could go wrong if she denies him. 

"How would you describe yourself?" he asked her. 

"I am a wolf in a woman's clothes," she jested. "And somehow I guess that you are a dragon."

"In temper," he grinned. 

"We are alike in that we are our sigils when properly upset," Lyanna said. 

"I knew from the moment you cried when I sang that you were not who you appeared to be," he said. "You understand."

"Understand what?"

"The cage."

"Let me guess. For you, it is honor, duty, courage, and maintaining loyalty amongst your ranks," Lyanna said. "And your family."

"Love is the strongest cage of all," he imparted to her.

"I'm aware," she replied. From the glint in his expression, she saw that he finally understood. 

\---

Rhaegar's love at first was freedom where Robert's and her family's were cages. But then as the war raged on, she lost more and more of her freedom. 

Love, she discovered too late, was always a cage. 

She died in Rhaegar's Tower of Joy, the final cage. She only wished that she could have chosen her cage—the one in which Jon was locked.


End file.
